


The Trader and the Merc

by Kicker



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Nonbinary Character, Other, Smoking, Swearing, nb/m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 10:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kicker/pseuds/Kicker
Summary: Vic's a trader, and Dan's a merc. They're both going to pass through Bunker Hill at some point, sure. But the chances of them being there at the same time?Not exactly low to begin with, but much higher now.





	The Trader and the Merc

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place about seven years before the Sole Survivor is unfrozen. by my (very rough) calculations it's a year or two before the total implosion of the Minutemen and thus before their defectors et al started to extort Bunker Hill for protection money. it's also before the ghouls are thrown out of Diamond City but I'm assuming there's an undercurrent of the sort of attitudes that led to them voting for McDonough on that platform, hence why Vic already feels uncomfortable there.
> 
> Vic's nonbinary and prefers no pronouns. so am and do I. it's not easy to make the English language conform to such constraints in a fluid and natural way but I've done my jolly best, so be nice. I'm open to criticism/commentary but if it's just 'use a reflexive you coward' I don't want to hear it.

Vic knows well enough not to relax until getting at least a few streets away from Diamond City. All those turrets aren't there for show, and while some of the guards might as well be they do sometimes do their job.

One of them is doing a great job right now, in fact. Or she was, because now she's coming down from the defenses she's supposed to be manning and offering Vic a light for a cigarette freshly-pulled from a half-crushed pack.

"Need a light?" she says casually, her eyes darting somewhat less casually from Vic's face to packet and back again.

Vic does not need a light, having a fliplighter already tucked into one palm before even plucking the cigarette from among its companions. Still. It never hurts to get one's face known among the guard, even around a city one despises and would prefer never to return to again. And it's not like cigarettes are hard to come by. Not as hard as working lighters, that's for sure.

"Sure," says Vic, offering up the packet and accepting the light in return.

Her eyes drift down over Vic's face but she doesn't stare too much as she lights the cigarette. She lights her own, sucks in a big lungful of smoke, and lets it out in a long, satisfied sigh as though it's the first nicotine she's had in years.

Vic's just about ready to give the smoker's nod, _thanks for the light, you're welcome for the smoke, goodbye_ when she gives that jut of her chin that says she's not done talking yet.

"You're headin' out, then," she says.

"Yeah," says Vic. "Is it that obvious?"

"Where ya off to?" she asks, ignoring the quip.

"Bunker Hill."

Her eyebrows rise. "Oh," she says. "You got a stand there?"

"No. Just a storehouse, not much more than a locker. I just need to... restock before I head further north."

That's not entirely true, of course. The truth is that Vic's just picked up the most valuable item that's ever burned a hole in one of Minos' packs, and the lock-up is about the safest spot to keep it. It's a copy of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ , Latin on one side, English on the other. It's battered, charred and water-stained, and it's still the most precious thing on which Vic's ever laid hands.

But that's too long a story, even for a bored Diamond City guard. So, restock it is. And for a moment, it does seem to be a good enough excuse for her. She says "oh" in that particular Diamond City way, takes another drag on her cigarette, and squints out at the horizon. Or at least what can be seen of it from here.

"Late in the day to do that trip, no?" she says. "Sun's goin' to be down in a couple hours. Your brahmin's gonna be pissed at going that fast."

"Thanks," says Vic. "But I know my brahmin."

She gesticulates back at the City. "I know a decent place, if you need to kip o..."

"No," says Vic, firmly, taking a hold of Minos' halter and starting the animal moving. "I really need to get to Bunker Hill tonight."

"Yeah well," she says, darkly. "Your funeral."

Vic fixes her with a hard stare. "Seriously?"

She holds up her hand in something of a placatory gesture. "Sorry," she says. "Habit. I'm sure you'll be fine, you look like the kind of guy who can handle himself."

Maintaining the stare, Vic drops the cigarette and grinds it under a scuffed boot. "Person. And yes. I am."

She's not wrong. It's not really the kind of journey that should be done at this time of day. Unless Vic really pushes Minos, a slowpoke at the best of times, the last stretch will be covered in the dark and that's never exactly a good idea. But after waiting hours in the City for the seller to finally show his goddamned face, Vic has had enough of the place and has no desire to stick around.

It's not that Bunker Hill's much better, of course. But the Hill has the benefit of that storehouse, with just enough room for a few water- and rad-proof containers and a single bedroll on the floor.

Almost like a home, if Vic believed in such a thing.

~

By the time they arrive in Bunker Hill the sun's almost gone, but the always-flickering bulbs strung around the trading post haven't quite taken over as the main source of light. Vic heads in through the gate, responding to Kessler's nod of greeting with a similarly understated acknowledgement of it.

So far so good.

With a quick tug on Minos' halter, Vic heads over to Kay's stand.

"Vic!" she says. "Long time no see!"

It has been a long time, but having spent the morning doing business in Diamond City Vic's running short on niceties and is left somewhat tongue-tied. Luckily, though, Cerberus darts under Kay's table and leaps up at the woman with a succession of unnecessarily high-pitched barks that cause several nearby caravaneers to wince or glare over.

"Hey there!" says Kay, dropping down to her knees to greet the dog. "Wow, you're gettin' real big. She looks great, how's she doin'?"

Vic gives a half-smile. "She's doing great."

"Aww," says Kay, scruffing Cerb's ears and addressing her next sentence to the dog. "You're a good girl, ain't ya. Are you looking after your... your Vic?"

"Mm-hmm," says Vic. "Saved me from a tato, earlier."

Kay keeps fussing at the dog for a moment before she stops and turns to look back up, her eyebrow raised. "A tato?"

"On the bridge," says Vic. "Memorial. Just lying there on the road. A single, horrifying tato. She wouldn't let me near it."

A broad smile crosses Kay's face. "Well," she says. "Can't fault her for trying. Maybe she thought it was a mine?"

Vic shrugs. "Yeah, well, it wasn't. And I'd rather she'd warned me about the mirelurk that came after Minos on the other side."

"Oh no," says Kay, rising to her feet, an expression of concern crossing her face. "He alright?"

"Yeah," says Vic. "Got a scratch on his foreleg. I dealt with the worst of it but he's been limping a little since. Can you take a look, maybe put him up? I know you're trying to get away from all that now but... I trust you with him."

Kay agrees, of course, so after unloading the mostly-empty packs from Minos' back and coaxing him into position with a handful of borrowed razorgrain, Vic heads back out into the trading post. It's busy; busier than usual both for time of night and of year. There seems to be about a hundred people in between Vic and Savoldi's bar. And that is exactly where Vic wants to go.

It's just a few dozen paces.

No big deal.

Maybe... maybe after a cigarette.

Vic heads back outside the gate into the dusk-darkened street, a hazy rectangle of light just now making itself visible over the concrete. Cerberus performs a cursory exploration of the area, nose to the ground, giving a few cautious wags of her tail before returning to sit by Vic's side. She's almost sat on one scuffed boot, and leaning most of her weight against Vic's lower leg.

In turn, Vic leans back against the corrugated iron of the fence and lets out a long, deep sigh. Fishing in a pocket for the now almost-empty packet of cigarettes and finally beginning to breathe easy, Vic draws one of them out, twisting the lighter around between fingers that are beginning to stiffen with cold already.

Just as the flame flares up, a figure emerges from the same alley through which Vic and brahmin and dog had travelled not so long before.

"This place got a no smoking rule?" says a deep-ish voice, barely waiting a moment before continuing. "Damn, I just can't catch a break."

Vic blinks, long and slow, and takes a pointed drag on the cigarette before replying. "No. I just came out here for some peace and quiet."

"Huh," says the stranger. "Okay. Well, don't let me stop you."

What with the rapidly-encroaching dark and fresh smoke drifting in the air, it's hard to really make out any identifying features. They're tall, but that doesn't help much. Huge pack on their back, but this is Bunker Hill, everyone's got one of those. Besides that, all Vic can really tell is that the accent's not local.

So, they're probably new around town, and Vic's been rude to them already.

Damn it.

"Bar's down the far end," says Vic. "Take a left, keep on going. They should have a room if you need one. But it's busy today. Don't make too much smalltalk before you ask."

The stranger lets out a low chuckle. "Thanks. Much appreciated. Bit of local knowledge never goes amiss."

~

Ordinarily, of course, this time of night would be given over to finding shelter, settling Minos down somewhere he can't chew or kick his way out of. With him under Kay's care, however, Vic only has to look out for Vic.

(And Cerb, of course. But Cerb's always fine, as long as she's beside Vic. As long as there's no stray tatoes around, that is.)

The new book is burning something of a hole in the inside pocket of Vic's leather jacket, that's true. But it's a little early and Vic's still a little young to be retiring to bed with a book at this time of night. Not to mention the fact that the torch back in the lock-up sheds barely more light than a glowing molerat, and certainly not enough to read by.

And besides that? Vic's desire for a drink is definitely burning brighter.

Savoldi's it is.

Vic heads back through the Hill, grateful to note that the masses of people that had been milling around before seem to have thinned out a little. What faces are still there are mostly new, of course. It's months since Vic's last visit, and that's more than enough for a complete refresh. But in amongst the throng are enough old hands for Vic not to feel completely out of sorts.

There is, however, a very new face sat right at the bar. A back, to be more accurate. A broad-shouldered one, with a huge pack propped up beside their seat. As Vic passes to find a place to lean, to get Savoldi's attention and that much-desired drink, that same accented voice from outside speaks up.

"What can I say," it says, its tone warm, amused. "I'm just that kind of guy."

Savoldi's all ears for whatever the stranger's talking about, but he pulls himself out of the conversation barely a few moments after making eye contact with Vic, leaving the guy to his beer.

"Vic!" he says, smiling broadly. "Good to see y'again. What can I get ya?"

"Vodka," says Vic. "Bottle."

"Take-out, huh?" says the barkeep, with a wink. "Gimme a minute, I'll dig out a fresh one for ya."

He disappears out back and Vic leans on the bar, arms folded on its surface. It's clean - ish - which is another sign of how early it is. Savoldi doesn't put much stock in cleanliness. In a place like Bunker Hill, they come to drink no matter how the place looks. Profits are nice, and all, but like most barkeeps, he's mostly in it for the conversation. Why spend time cleaning when he could be getting all the gossip?

"Bad day?"

It takes a moment for Vic to come back to reality and realise where the voice is coming from. It's the stranger. The guy from outside. Vic glances over at him, just long enough to catch a glimpse of sandy hair and a pair of curious blue eyes.

"Not bad, as such," says Vic, staring at the back of the bar. "Just... long."

"Yeah, I feel you," he replies.

Savoldi comes back out with the bottle, places it on the counter, waves his hand before Vic's even pretended to reach for the caps. "I know you're good for it."

Vic nods thanks, turning and clicking fingers at Cerb to make sure she's following.

"Oh, hey," says the new guy, twisting on his barstool to look around at Vic. "Thanks for the tip, by the way. Got here just in time to get the last room."

He'll be gone in the morning. There's no real need to drag out a conversation.

But... there's no need to be rude, either.

"You're welcome," says Vic. "Have a good night."

~

"Vic. Vic!"

It's barely past sun-up, and even though it's late autumn it's still far too early for that much enthusiasm. Vic holds in most of the sigh of irritation and turns to her. "Deb. What's up?"

"Vic," she says again, her eyes wide and her tone pleading. "You gotta help me out. I've asked everyone, you're my last hope."

"Glad to know I'm so high on the list," says Vic.

She narrows her eyes, but there's still an amused quirk to the corner of her mouth. "Oh, you know I don't mean it like that. Besides, I didn't even know you were here until I saw you with my own two eyes. When did you get back? How come you're here?"

Vic waves off her questions. "Last night. And it doesn't matter. What's the problem?"

"My sister's havin' her baby. I need to go... help her, or whatever. Lord knows what _I'm_ supposed to do but ma sent me a message and..."

Nodding sympathetically at opportune moments, Vic waits for her to get to the point. At some point, eyes drift over to Savoldi's. Not looking for the stranger, as such. He's probably still passed out in one of those drafty rooms above the bar, if he's not gone already. On reflection, it seems an odd decision to arrive at Bunker Hill at this time of year. It's too late for him to be setting up as a caravaneer, everyone's got their crews and three sets of increasingly cap-starved backups. And the folks who like to over-winter in the place don't usually show up for another month or two.

"...gonna be disowned," says Deb. "So I need someone to look after my stand. Please."

Vic nods again, then realises she's waiting for a response. "Wait. You mean me?"

"Yes," she says. "Were you even listening?"

"You want me to take your stand?" asks Vic.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. "Yes!"

"I don't have enough stock," says Vic, thinking of how little time it had taken to transfer Minos' packs from Kay's shed to the lockup.

"It'll be fine," she says. "Just... spread it out and look unapproachable. You're good at that."

"Seriously?"

She giggles and reaches out to pat Vic's elbow. "That was mean," she says. "I'm sorry. But please. I'm in a real bind here."

~

So it is that a few hours later, Vic's sat behind Deb's cleared-off stand inside the main building. A paltry quantity of novels and fairly well-preserved magazines are strewn over the table in nothing even remotely approaching good order. The chair is just turned far enough away from the table as to avoid looking too interested in any customers. And the book Vic's reading - not _the_ book, just _a_ book - is just engrossing enough that Vic doesn't have to pretend not to be fully aware what's going on in the marketplace.

Probably looks fairly unapproachable, in fact.

It's a pretty good spot, mind, for both a stand and for reading. It's sheltered from any rain, for one thing. The soft, slightly dusty light that enters through the old visitor center's high windows is just bright enough but not too glaring. It is cold though. Vic shrugs irritably as the door swings open yet again, letting a fresh gust of cold air into the space, fluttering the pages of several books and flipping open the cover of one of the magazines.

Leaning forward to smooth it back down, Vic notes an indistinct shadow falling over the table. It's happened a few times this morning; each time, the shadow lasted barely more than ten seconds before whoever was casting it had moved away. Not many readers in Bunker Hill, after all.

But this one persists.

Vic looks up, a little reluctantly. It's the new guy. Still tall, still broad, and now it's light Vic has a better view of his face. He's got a strong nose, thick stubble and eyes that are a much darker blue than remembered from the night before. Much more attractive than that quick glimpse in murky light had revealed, too.

He issues a quick smile then glances down at the table, touching idle fingers to the covers of a couple of books, but not really with any purpose.

Beside Vic, Cerb's tail starts to thump softly against the floor.

"Got anything good?" he asks.

Vic leans back, arms folded. "It's all good enough for me to stock it."

"Huh," he replies, another slight smile ticking up the corner of his mouth. "Good answer."

"What do you usually read?"

The guy looks down at the table. "To be honest," he says. "I'm not much of a reader."

"Alright," replies Vic. "What do you think you'd like to read about?"

The guy sighs a quiet _ah, hell_ before fixing Vic with a candid look. "Listen, I'm just making a bad excuse to come talk to you. You're Vic, right?"

Vic nods, cautiously.

"Name's Dan," he says. "Some people call me Honest Dan, but I've found that has the effect of people assuming the opposite's true. So, Dan."

"Okay," says Vic. "Dan."

Dan coughs, awkwardly. "I was... I just wanted to thank you again for the advice you gave last night. You saved me a night in a brahmin stall."

Vic gives a wry smile. Bunker Hill's caravaneers have always been more precious about their brahmin than themselves. "You think you'd have been that lucky?"

"Ha! Well, I suppose you'd know better."

There's another moment, this time broken by Dan jumping half out of his skin and glaring down at the floor beside him, before letting out a bemused laugh.

"Oh, hey, pup. Don't creep up on a guy like that. Yours, right? What's, uh. The name?"

Vic hesitates for a moment. Cerberus, three-headed guardian of the Underworld, faithful hound of Hades, suddenly seems a little... excessive.

"Cerb. Uh. Ignore her if you want. She won't be offended."

Dan nods, but reaches down as though he's about to give her a tentative scratch behind the ears. She's completely out of view, but Vic can hear her claws scrabbling on the rough flooring and hear the fussing noises she starts to make as Dan stops paying her attention and straightens back up.

"Looks like you've made an impression," says Vic, leaning down and clicking fingers under the table to distract her and bring her back.

"I hope so," says Dan.

When Vic glances back up over the table, the guy's looking away.

"Anyway," he continues. "I'll, uh... leave you to it. Have a... good day's trading."

~

At the end of the day, Vic sweeps the books into their boxes and carries them back over to the lock-up. The night before, Vic had managed to get the torch working just about well enough to read the precious book, but hadn't gotten more than a few pages through it before passing out. Luckily the battery's fine, but... that could have been a mistake.

The book's still there, now tucked into the safest and certainly most water- and fire-proof section of containers in the lock-up. And after hours of people and faces, the thought of shutting out the world and drifting off into its pages is more than a little appealing.

Vic heads out onto the threshold of the lockup, lighting up a cigarette and watching the sky become tinged with orange and pink. Cerb initially sits quietly, then trots out and starts rolling in the dusty grass, paws alternately waving in the air then scrabbling for purchase on the rough ground.

Savoldi's is out of sight behind the market and the monument's base, not to mention a few extra rickety shacks that have been put up since the last time Vic visited. But it's not out of mind, and nor is the guy from before. He's probably sat there right now with a first or second beer of the evening.

"So what do you think, Cerb?" says Vic. "Should I go and be sociable?"

She picks herself up, shakes herself down and then stares at Vic for a moment before sneezing, enthusiastically.

"Huh," says Vic. "You're right. He is new in town and might like some company. But I'm sure he can find it for himself."

She wags her tail, and lets out a gentle whine.

"Well, yeah," says Vic. "But he was just being polite. Anyone would do the same."

She sneezes again.

"Alright, I wouldn't. But still. He was just being polite."

Vic finishes the cigarette, and grinds it under a boot, pondering the options. There was - is - something about him. A set to the jaw. A twinkle in the eyes. And he'd known Vic's name; he'd given enough of a shit to find it out before coming over to talk.

Nah. He was just being polite.

Vic calls Cerb back into the lock-up, and settles down with the book.

~

Three days later, Deb's still not back. And despite looking as unapproachable as possible, Vic has actually been doing a pretty good trade.

That's not a good thing.

The stock was already 'creatively' arranged on the table to make it look like there was more than there was, but now its sparseness is starting to look embarrassing. It's still not enough to keep people away, though. In fact, Vic's just leaned away from the table to open up a can of purified water, when yet another customer approaches.

She stands over the table, and idly turns over a few books to check their backs.

"Looking for anything in particular?" asks Vic.

"Oh, you know," she says. "Just something... nice. Wholesome. What about this one, what's this like?"

Sipping from the can, Vic glances over at the book she's holding. It's some sort of cheap romance novel with a forgettable title. It's probably terrible, and she'll probably love it.

But on the cover, in a typically heroic pose, stands a muscular fellow with shirt torn open almost to the navel. He has shoulder-length sandy-colored hair, a strong nose, and dark blue eyes.

Vic chokes on the water.

The woman frowns. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," says Vic, coughing a little. "Fine."

"So," she says, impatiently. "Is it any good?"

Vic stares at it a little longer, not remembering ever having seen it before. "It's... I'm not sure."

She lets out a disgruntled snort. "Well I'll take it anyway. This guy looks pretty hot, don't you think?"

Vic smiles, politely, and notes down the sale.

The next couple of visitors come and leave with little incident. Someone comes asking for a geiger counter, to which Vic's only response is to gesticulate at the table, does it look like I have one? Get lost. Then another woman stops by and picks out a book. She doesn't ask Vic for a review of this one, though, just holds it out and asks how much.

This one has the same model on the cover. This time, in what looks like a Grognak costume. Stripped to the waist and... oiled, for some reason.

"Oh come on," mutters Vic. "You can't be serious."

It's not him.

And nobody _really_ has chiseled abs like that.

There is some resemblance, though, and... who knows what he's hiding under that armor?

The woman coughs, pointedly, already holding out a handful of caps. Vic somehow scrambles through the sale, then when she's gone, settles back in the chair and lifts eyes to the ceiling.

"Alright," says Vic, quietly. "I get the message. I'll go talk to him. Later. Now leave me be."

~

At eight in the evening, with the remaining books packed away for the night and Cerberus left to 'guard' the lock-up, Vic crosses the Hill once more. Approaching the bright(ish) lights of Savoldi's, Vic's heart sinks a little to note no broad-shouldered figure sat in front of the bar.

Oh well, thinks Vic. It's a good opportunity to talk to the barkeep and find out what's been going on during Vic's absence.

But then Vic looks around a little more carefully and notices that Dan is there, down the far end of the place. He's sat on one of a few low seats that Savoldi only puts out when he's pretty sure it's not going to rain overnight. And while there is another stool free at the bar, and Savoldi's already smiling over, by this point it would be rude to ignore him.

Right?

So after getting a drink in, Vic heads over and catches his attention, gesticulating at the empty seat beside him. "You mind?"

Dan looks up. His eyebrows rise, and the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile that's slight, but still heartening. "Be my guest."

There's a few moments of silence - not awkward, just quiet - as they both sip at their drinks. Then a little smalltalk, and a few niceties. Vic talks about trading, Dan admits to being a merc. Not your standard issue, though. Apparently, he asks questions before he starts firing. He also smoothly avoids any questions about what came before that, and Vic's hardly one to press that kind of issue.

Dan shifts a little on his seat and sighs. "I don't know," he says. "I'm starting to wonder if I've made a mistake. Never had to wait this long for a job before."

"You'll be fine," replies Vic, with a half-smile. "You've just got to position yourself right."

"Oh," says Dan. "That so?"

His tone is casual but the words are accompanied by a longer, more lingering look.

"In the market," continues Vic, meeting it. "If people want a merc, they'll go to the Gunners. If they want a detective, they'll go to Valentine. You need to persuade them that they need something in between."

The conversation continues on the same level for a little while; sensible business advice, titbits of local knowledge, peppered with innuendos that become increasingly more lewd and obvious as the vodka goes down and Dan's gaze becomes hungrier.

Eventually, it all gets too much. Dan leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, and looks up with those dark blue eyes. "C'mon," he says, quietly. "You're killing me here. I don't know if I'm coming or going."

Vic lets out a quiet laugh, drains the rest of the vodka, and taps the enamel cup back down on the table. "Why not both?"

Dan stares back for a moment. "Because," he says, slowly, but doesn't continue.

Vic prompts him with a raised eyebrow, but Dan just shakes his head. "No, I... uh. I didn't have a reason in the first place. But if I ever did, I've lost it now."

Initially planning to say something that the rest of the bar definitely doesn't need to hear, Vic leans toward him. But he's leaning forward too, so he's _right_ there and it seems like a shame to pass up the opportunity. And judging by how fast their lips meet, he's had exactly the same idea.

The best kind of miscommunication.

The kiss doesn't last long, or not nearly long enough at any rate. It's all hot breath and pressing lips, combined with soft stubble and fingers that scratch down necks and send shivers down spines. Vic's anyway.

"Damn," says Dan.

Vic gently brushes a knee against his. "I'd say your place or mine, but mine's a box and yours is above Savoldi's. If you want to take this further we might have to get creative."

Dan curses. But it's just a quiet _damn it_ , nothing serious. "See," he says, "earlier I was going to say. 'You're the one with local knowledge. I just got a place, other side of the monument. Maybe you should come take a look, tell me if I'm being ripped off.' I practiced it, even. But I guess I left it too long, and now it just feels... dishonest."

Vic frowns. "Well, that doesn't sound like you at all. I suggest you just invite me there."

~

About noon the next day, Vic's back at the stand, leaning back in the seat and desperately hoping that nobody will approach and expect a conversation, let alone to buy anything.

Of course, someone does approach. But luckily it's just Deb, back from her trip.

"Deb," says Vic, with not a little relief. "You're back. How'd it all go?"

She shrugs. "It was... fine, I guess. I got a new nephew! And probably some kind of lasting trauma. Could do without seein' any of that again, that's for sure. How's it been here?"

Vic shrugs back. "Bearable."

"Oh," she says. "That good, huh? Well, if you want to keep the stand for the rest of the week that's..."

"No," interrupts Vic. "That's... no. Just... no."

She leans in a little closer, and frowns a little. "You okay? What happened to your neck? Oh god, was there trouble?"

Vic holds her gaze. "No. No trouble."

"Oh," she says, at first concerned but then following it up with another with another little _oh_.

"Don't," says Vic, rising from the seat.

"What? I wasn't gonna say..."

"You weren't and you won't."

She tilts her head in that particular way.

"Alright," continues Vic. "I know you will. But he's living here now, at least for a little while, so some discretion would be appreciated."

"Oh," she says. "A local. Does that mean we're gonna be seein' you round here more?"

"Don't count on it," says Vic.

_Count on it._


End file.
